


Never Stop Looking

by velja



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-A Study in Pink, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fill, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velja/pseuds/velja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on sherlockbbc_fic: <i>“If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?” Everyone has a clock, either installed by futuristic machines or they're born with one, idk just roll with it</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Stop Looking

**Author's Note:**

> When I started writing I had something else in mind. Something about Sherlock and John’s first meeting at Bart’s, including my favorite lyrics (“Nice to meet you, I’m your other half.”). This story still has all of these things, but somehow it took a great detour, met a funny old lady on the way, nearly lost its focus but then, finally, it got the right turn back to our boys. So, there you go, anonymous prompter. I took your prompt and rolled with it.

When John is sent home from Afghanistan, invalided and no longer fit for war, he doesn’t know where to go at first. There’s no home, no spouse or parents waiting anxiously for his return. John’s parents died a few years back and the house is sold. Harry hasn’t wanted it and John… he’s been abroad with no knowledge of when, or even if, he’ll return.

So, no home to go to.

And yet the small village he’s grown up in, sixty miles away from London, is the first place he travels to. He stands in front of his former home for a long while, looking through the windows, watching the people that live here now, and wonders what he is supposed to do. Where to go.

“Johnny?” a feeble voice suddenly calls from behind. John turns around and is amazed to see old Granny Longford leaning out of her kitchen window. Like she used to do when he was a boy, coming home from school.

Granny Longford has been living opposite the Watson’s since before John can remember. She’s always been there, and always old already. She’s always had wild white hair and more wrinkles than anybody else. John assumes she must be over a hundred by now.

A smile breaks out on his face and he quickly crosses the street. “Granny,” he beams up at her wrinkled face. “It’s so good to see you!”

“And you, too.” She gives him that special toothless smile John has always associated with her and suddenly it is all coming back to him in a flash. He remembers and knows for sure what’s to come next. And sure enough, Granny doesn’t disappoint with her next words.

“Tell me, Johnny, what does your clock say?”

The clock.

John hasn’t thought about the clock in years. Nobody ever does, as far as he knows. In fact, most people seem to have forgotten they even have one, despite them being rather distinctive. John has seen many a clock in his time. Some people wear it like a real watch around their wrists, others have put it on a chain to wear like a necklace. Like John does.

Unconsciously John’s hand comes up and he feels for the clock on his chest, hidden under his shirt. He’s seen many of these small silver clocks, round in shape and yet holding only a square display instead of a dial. A display stuck on one single time and date for each person. Never changing, always the same. One date, one time.

**_January, 29th, 2010, 2:14 p.m._** his clock is saying. John remembers instantly, though he hasn’t looked at it in a long time. Nobody gives their clocks much thought these days because nobody believes in their purpose anymore.

That is, nobody but Granny. As long as John can remember Granny has always questioned people about their clocks. _‘What does your clock say?’_ she’s asked him a million times. Every day with the same voice full of longing and the same wistful smile that’s playing around her mouth now.

Granny has always wanted to know what people’s clocks say.

John thinks it’s because she doesn’t have one. Never did. Granny Longford was past fifty when the clocks were invented, way past fifty already. And only people younger than fifty have been granted a clock.

John has never fully understood why. Well, truth is, he’s never cared to learn the reason. He’s never cared much about the clocks at all. They have always just been there, since before John has been born, simple as that. People have owned those clocks for all his life. They’ve always been a part of people, like shoes or an appendix.

John can still recall the slogan he’s grown up with. The advert with which the government has promoted their groundbreaking invention for years is as ingrained in his mind as the alphabet.

_**‘Be sure not to miss The One. Know the exact moment you’re gonna meet your soul mate. Only the clock will guide you to your other half of the coin.’** _

The clocks were invented more than forty years ago and at first people bought them like mad. Everybody needed to have one. But it hasn’t taken long for the novelty and fascination to wear off. Also, after only a few years, reality has set in and people have begun to see the flaw.

The thing is, the clock tells you the exact moment in which every person will find their soul mate. That much is true. But the problem is… it doesn’t tell you where you’ll find them.

So while one person is waiting and looking in London, the other one, the soul mate, may be staring at their clock in Timbuktu or Sidney or… you see the problem?

The chances of actually running into your soul mate at the exact right spot at exactly the right time are… practically nonexistent. Granted, over the years there have been a few people who’ve found their soul mate by means of the clock. John has read about it in the papers. It’s six couples, or maybe seven. No more. Only seven in more than forty years. That’s not much.

And people have realized that quickly enough. They’ve cursed and screamed, some have gone mad while searching for the right place… many have thrown their clocks away, have stomped on them with their boots. And then they’ve blamed the government.

Of course the geniuses that’ve invented the clock have been working on improving it instantly and excessively. Till now… to no avail.

And yet many people still wear their clocks. Whether they’ve forgotten they have them or they’re secretly hoping the government will find a solution to the place-problem… it doesn’t matter. People still wear their clocks.

And so does John. Though he is definitely one of those who have simply forgotten about their clock. It has become a part of him, like a scar or a mole. It’s just there, doing no harm but also no good.

John hasn’t thought about his clock in years. Only now, when seeing Granny Longford and hearing the words that have accompanied him all through his childhood, he remembers his clock.

His hand is pulling it out from under his shirt and he smiles at Granny.

“Well?” the old lady cocks her head. “What does your clock say, Johnny?”

“Same as always, Granny. January, 29th, 2010.”

“You have not forgotten,” her smile widens then, if that’s even possible. “That’s good. Never forget, Johnny. And never stop looking.”

John doesn’t want to upset the old lady that has always been like a grandmother to him. She used to babysit him and Harry when they were little; he used to go to her every day after school so that she could watch him doing his homework while his parents were at work. Granny Longford is the grams he never had.

So instead of admitting that he doesn’t believe in the clock and soul mates and all that, he simply nods and assures her: “I won’t, Granny. Never stop looking.”

“Good. So, January, hm? That’s not far off. Not far off at all. Only a few weeks.”

“I’m sorry?” John realizes that he hasn’t been listening. He’s been distracted by two young kids leaving the house opposite, his former home. They look just like he and Harry did, a long time ago. Granny’s eyes follow his.

“Oh, the Bradley kids,” she gives them a quick wave before her eyes settle on John once more. “They’re nice folks, the Bradleys. And the kids, Sophia and Milo, they’re… they remind me of two other young ones who once lived there.”

She winks at John but quickly enough she is serious again. “So, Johnny. January, only a few weeks till then. You know where to go yet? For your big date?”

“Well,” John’s fingers clasp the clock once more. “All my stuff’s been shipped from Afghanistan back to London, so I suppose I should go there.”

“London,” Granny hums thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose that’ll do. You’ll meet him there.”

John is about to ask what she means by ‘him’ – Granny can’t know that he’s come to like men as well as women, can she? - But the sudden shrill ringing of a phone inside Granny’s home stops him.

The old woman presses a wrinkled hand to her bosom and throws a quick look over her shoulder. “Let me tell you, one of these days that awful thing is gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Never,” John smiles and shifts from one foot to another. The phone rings again. “Well, you should… I should get going, Granny. It was really nice seeing you.”

“And it was nice to be seen, Johnny. Now, off you go, young man. Off to London to find your soul mate. Come back with him, once you’ve found him. Till then, never stop looking.”

“I won’t, Granny,” John promises and once again wonders why she’s so sure his soul mate will be a man. He watches her straighten up and close the window before he turns and starts walking away, her words still ringing in his ears. ‘Never stop looking, Johnny!’

*********************************

When John arrives in London he’s still thinking about Granny Longford. He’s come to the conclusion that this whole clock business isn’t fair. Some people got a clock and threw it away or destroyed it while others, like Granny, who believed with all their hearts and who waited day in and day out for their soul mate to arrive, never got one for whatever stupid reasons.

How’s that fair?

He realizes that he would have gladly given Granny his clock but… that’s not how it works.

“It doesn’t work at all,” John mumbles to himself when he enters the small bare room that’s to be his home for the next few days. Or weeks, depending on how long it will take him to get his matters sorted.

John still doesn’t know what to do with his life, now that he’s no longer a soldier. He thinks he can still work as a doctor, despite his limp and tremor, but who will hire him? Where should he start looking? He knows he can’t afford living in London for long. London is expensive and the army pension isn’t that much.

He visits Harry around Christmas and is sad to hear that she and Clara broke up two months ago. Harry still drinks, worse now that she’s alone, and John contemplates for a second about moving in with her. But Harry makes it clear that she doesn’t need her brother to reprimand her all day long, she doesn’t want the lectures, she doesn’t want to get sober. And John knows he won’t be able to stop trying, so… all he gets from visiting his sister is bad words and her old phone. She wants him to stay in touch, that much is clear, but she doesn’t want him around.

So John returns to his empty room and his empty days. Only his nights are filled, no matter how much he wishes they weren’t. Nightmares trouble him, vivid dreams full of blood and war and comrades dying in his arms. There’s nothing he can do about it.

John’s thoughts revolve around his troubled nights and empty days so much that there’s no room for anything else. No room for Harry and her drinking, no room for Granny Longford and the clocks, no room for anything but Afghanistan and what he’s lost in the war. His life’s purpose, the proper use of his left hand and right leg, everything that defined John Watson for what he is. Was. John doesn’t know what he is anymore.

Days pass, one week, then two, and nothing changes. Nothing happens to him. Ever.

John starts physical therapy for his hand and leg as well as psychological therapy for everything else that’s wrong with him. His limbs get a little better, everything else doesn’t. He sets up his own blog like his therapist suggested but he has no words to fill the page with.

January is halfway through and still nothing happens to John. He loses count of the days, doesn’t know if it’s Tuesday or Friday, but he doesn’t really care. What change will it make? Nightmares on Tuesday nights are just as bad as the ones that have him waking up screaming and sweating on Friday nights.

Nothing changes.

The sun is shining brightly one day when John walks, or rather limps, through a park. It’s too bright and warm for January but then again, John doesn’t notice. He’s forgotten it’s January. It doesn’t matter, does it? One day is just like the next. Only this day has Mike Stamford, an old friend from Bart’s College, sitting on a park bench and calling out after him.

They have coffee and a somewhat pleasant talk but John realizes once more that he’s not the John Watson Mike once knew. He’s someone he doesn’t recognize anymore.

John follows Mike to Bart’s to meet this fellow who’s looking for a flatmate, not really thinking it will work out. Who’d want him for a flatmate?

And then they enter the lab and he is confronted with this… this guy. John is blinded by a swirl of black coat and black locks, he’s dazzled by the queerest questions and finds himself loaning his mobile phone, Harry’s phone. And John is still puzzling over answers he doesn’t even know the question to, let alone remember having asked any, when the guy leaves with another swirl of black coat, a wink and a casually thrown-in ‘Afternoon!’.

John, still dazzled and open-mouthed, looks at Mike.

“Yeah, he’s always like that.” Mike lets out a chuckle and adds: “So, what do you think, hm? You’re gonna have a look at that flat of his? He is a bit strange, that’s for sure but he’s also a genius. Brilliant, really.”

“Strange, yeah,” speech comes slowly back to John. “You could say that again.”

While John tries to get his thoughts sorted after this strange encounter Mike steps closer and almost whispers: “Think I should warn you though. Sherlock Holmes doesn’t get on with most people. I like him well enough but, well, I wouldn’t wanna live with him. So, I wouldn’t stop looking for a flatmate just yet just because… well, like my grams used to say: Never stop looking.”

John watches Mike shrug almost apologetically. He’s saying more but it doesn’t register in John’s mind. His thoughts are suddenly swirling, overflowing.

‘Never stop looking, Johnny.’

And just like that John suddenly remembers. He lets out a stunned gasp while his eyes seek out the big clock that’s hanging on the wall. 2:17 p.m. it reads. That means, three minutes ago it was…

“January, 29th,” John whispers. Then his gaze snaps to Mike. “Isn’t it? The 29th?”

“I think so, yeah. But what…?” Mike breaks off when John quickly limps to the door. “John?”

“Sorry, Mike,” John throws over his shoulder. “I’ve gotta… did he say the mortuary?”

Without waiting for an answer John leaves the lab and as fast as his hurting leg will allow makes his way through Bart’s halls. He follows the signs on the wall, almost runs through a double door and then another, until he reaches the end of the hall and a single white door without a window.

John is just about to press the handle when the door swings open and nearly hits him in the face. Sherlock Holmes steps out, a riding crop in hand and a small frown on his face.

“What now? Still a problem?”

“No, just,” John needs to take a breath before he can continue. “Do you have a clock?”

“A clock?” The frown deepens for a second but then suddenly it’s as if a light bulb is switched on in that brilliant brain of his and Sherlock’s eyes light up. “You mean…?”

“Yes,” John gasps, still breathless from his run. He watches Sherlock fumble around with his scarf for a second, until he’s reached something underneath and begins to pull.  
John does the same, his left hand steady for once, and in sync both men pull forth the clocks they’ve worn forever around their necks.

January, 29th, 2010, 2:14 p.m. both clocks say.

John looks up into grey-blue eyes that meet his stare and a small smile plays around his lips. He lets go of the chain and the clock bumps against his chest with a soft thump. He sees Sherlock’s eyes follow the movement.

John straightens to his full height and holds out his hand in greeting. The other man’s palm fits soft and warm into his grip.

“Nice to meet you,” John smiles. “I’m your other half.”

Sherlock smiles back, a rare and special smile that John, given time, will forever associate with this moment.

*****************************

That night, back in his empty room and after he’s looked up Sherlock Holmes on the internet, John takes hold of the small chain around his neck and for the first time in his life he takes off his clock. He sets it on his nightstand with great care and then grabs the phone.

After a few moments wait an old female voice grumbles sleepily: “Now this has better be good.”

“Oh, it is, Granny,” John answers with a smile. “I found him.”

“You did?” Granny is awake at once. “Oh, Johnny. I’m so happy for you. Now you can stop looking.”

John can’t agree more.

 

 

 

**The End**

 


End file.
